Jumping to Conclusions
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: Grissom was never one to jump to conclusions, but everyone has an off day. On a slow shift, poor Sara is the one who gets that reminder.


** Title**: Jumping to Conclusions

** Summary**: Grissom was never one to jump to conclusions, but everyone has an off day. On a slow shift, poor Sara is the one who gets that reminder.

** Rating**: G

** Category**: Humour

** Pairing**: Hints of Grissom/Sara

** Author's Notes**: Love my kitties. Love avoiding exams more. Blame either for this one. And this isn't set in any particular time-frame of the show, so...

** Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI, and I'm not making any profits. A shame really, because I could REALLY use that kind of money.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*+*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I would have described it as the start of a normal shift but for one thing. Instead of the ever-punctual Sarah Sidle arriving a great deal of time before the shift started, she rushed in -face flustered- with only minutes to spare.

It was not the first time this month, and I had the sneaking suspicion it would not be the last. In fact, over the past few weeks she had been acting strange- much more outgoing and relaxed. My first instinct said a man, loathe as I was to admit that someone could make her so happy. My second was to dismiss the idea. 

The team was in the break room, awaiting assignments. Sarah was with me on a B&E, and the others had a missing persons case. One of Las Vegas's quieter nights, a relief from the abnormally large number of homicides lately. 

We drove to the site together, and it was when she handed me my field kit I saw her wrists. There were cuts on the back, angry red gashes. I did not see them well enough to state the source, but they were reminiscent of fingernails. She caught my look and pulled her sleeves down. 

What was going on?

*~+~*

The evidence was gathered quickly, and Sarah and I were back at the lab within two hours. She had been oddly quiet, and it was probably that silence that prompted investigation of her wounds. She had hid her wrists from me, and avoided my eyes.

The earlier thoughts of a boyfriend had resurfaced in a different light. Could she have gotten in over her head? Was her suddenly extroverted nature a plea for help? I had to know. So I enlisted the help of Greg. 

*~+~*

On a list of stupid ideas, this one was ahead of the pack. Greg, our reigning king of subtlety, decided the direct approach was the best course of action.

"Sarah!" 

He flagged her down in the hallway, and motioned for her to come in and get her results. 

He handed her the paper, but didn't let go. I could hear from my position in the doorway as he brought the subject around. 

"So...I've been hearing you've found yourself some interesting companionship lately."

"Did Catherine tell you? I can't _believe _she told you," she was furious, and I was confused. She continued her tirade. "Just don't tell Grissom. You know how he gets when it comes to getting involved on the job."

"Not a word. Who is it?"

"Shut up Greg."

"Yes ma'am. Here's your analysis."

She took it, and stormed out of the room. She brushed me as she passed, but didn't seem to notice. For a moment I wanted to call her back, talk to her. Maybe there was something I could do.

Probably not though.

*~+~*

I don't like holes. In fact, I hate them. So, in my mind, this Sarah situation was getting completely out of control. I tried talking to her. I cornered her in the break room, asking her anything to get her talking. She skillfully sidestepped any personal questions I posed, a trick I know I had taught her only too well. I tried asking around, seeing if anyone had heard about Sara's new friend. Nada.

In all reality, I doubted Sarah would stand for any man hurting her. But every day women were succumbing to abuse, deluding themselves with lies about love and life. And Sarah could fit the profile. Hell, she could have been a poster child for the profile- beautiful, reserved, socially inept in so many ways, too proud to ask for help…

If I ever laid my hands on the guy, I'd kill him.

*~+~*

As shift end drew near, I was ready to admit defeat. Considering my track record with reading people, I asked Catherine to play mediator.

Sarah was on her way out when I called her into the office. She perched on the edge of my desk, a grin plastered on her face. 

"Yes Grissom?"

"Lately, you've been acting odd. Now, it hasn't affected your work performance- yet. But if there _is_ something going on, I need to know before the situation gets out of hand."

She seemed to consider this, then replied.

"I found someone who keeps the voices away."

Her statement evoked memories of another time, when she had stood in my doorway and asked _me_ to sleep with her. I couldn't offer what she needed, but she had found someone who could. Good.

Still there were questions.

"Can I ask what these," I snatch her arm and pull back her sleeves, "are from?"

She gave a bitter laugh.

"I get it now," her voice dripped with resentful sarcasm. "Oh yes Grissom. I let some guy lay one _finger_ on me. Because it's not like I'm capable of defending myself or anything. What these are from is none of your damned business. But if it helps you sleep better, it wasn't a boyfriend. Or a date. Or some random prick off the street. In fact, it was nobody. Just Frank."

The last two words were a whisper. She wrenched her arm from my grasp and left the room. She made herself walk, but her steps were hurried and uneven. I was left to my bewilderment with Catherine.

"What was that about?"

"You wigging out on her?"

"Those marks were real, Catherine."

She shook her head, and realization dawned on me.

"Who's Frank?"

"Do you remember the case we had last month, the one with the Siamese cats?"

"Yeah. A couple of animal rights activists shot a "breeder", because they couldn't prove his operation was illegal. What about it? There wasn't anybody named Frank in the investigation."

"It's Frank Sinatra, ol' Blue Eyes himself. She brought home a kitten."

"Oh."

Now I was confused.

"Why does she care if I know about that?"

"You really can't read her, can you Gil?" she muttered, shaking her head. "She just took another step towards being the crazy spinster with the kitties."

"So?"

Shaking her head again, Catherine left.

Women. I think I'll just stick with the roaches.

………………….

I know, just a little bizarre. I enjoyed writing it though. But that could be because of the whole lack-of-caffeine-in-the-blood-stream thing I've got going on tonight.


End file.
